Too Much
by monsley
Summary: It's hard to deal with an uncanny cupboard and a livein boyfriend. As in a boyfriend who occasionally lives inside said cupboard. Especially if you're Susan Sto Helit and can't be having with that sort of thing.


**Title:** Too Much  
**Fandom:** Discworld  
**Characters:** Susan Sto Helit/Lobsang Ludd  
**Prompt:** 033. Too Much (fanfic100. Count: 560  
**Rating:** PG  
**Summary:** It's hard to deal with an uncanny cupboard and a live-in boyfriend. As in a boyfriend who occasionally lives inside the cupboard. Especially if you're Susan Sto Helit and can't be having with that sort of thing.  
**Author's Notes: **EEEE first finished fic for the fanfic100 challenge. It's tremendous fun to write these two, there's so much of their interaction to think up. Time and Death, two anthropomorphic personifications -- or as close as they can get -- in love...

033. Too Much

Sometimes she didn't know what she would do if her self-control wasn't practically a force of nature all in itself. Nothing was the same, not since she had entered this foolish situation, and the fact that she'd entered it willingly sometimes made her want to slap herself sharply across the face. Because now, when she opened the door of the stationary cupboard, her breath would catch in her throat and the little hairs on the nape of her neck would stand up on end in anticipation.

It didn't always happen, he didn't always come, but only rarely did he disappoint. So she'd reach in tentatively, hesitating –she hated it, she hated the _doubting_, all fluttery and pink-hued, godsdammit– and look for something; a gold star for Vincent –yet again–, some pencils, anything. At first she wouldn't be really focusing her eyes, not-wanting-yet-wanting to see him, until her overwhelmingly sensible inner voice would tell her to cut it out and get on with it before Jason set somebody on fire again. Then, as her eyes would finally take in the welcome, ordinary insides of the stationary cupboard, she'd let out a small sigh. She wouldn't really know whether it was out of disappointment or relief. Her gray eyes would finally locate the object of her search and she'd snatch it up, too quickly, knocking over the finger-paint pots and spilling the tacks all over the third shelf. She would shake her head then, tsking under her breath, angry with herself and so much angrier with him. That's the moment he'd have been waiting for, and she _knew_ it –that was what made her angriest of it all, thinking that in fact she was going along with his stupid, stupid game–. That's the moment he'd have been waiting for. Because _the very instant_ she gave up on it all –too confused and dismayed and sad and furious– _then _would come that kiss on the nape of her neck, those fingers curling in her hair, and that shiver down her spine. Or a small bite on her earlobe. Or a long lick down her collarbone. Admittedly, he'd gotten _such _a telling-off the day he'd dared to do that. But the point was, the point _was_, he'd turned something so utterly _ordinary_ and _predictable_ and _calculated_ and _primordial_ to her proper-respectable-teacher life as the management of the stationary cupboard into an extra-sensorial otherworldly experience. And Miss Susan Sto Helit decidedly _did not put up_ with uncanny cupboards.

So she'd slam the cupboard door shut, startling even the peaceful Penelope out of her reverie, and get purposefully back to the teacher's table. Sometimes, though, the awe-struck look on her students' faces would take her aback. A soft smile would tug at the corners of her mouth, and her feelings would finally settle onto a sort of contented resignation which, unbeknownst to her, was quite like happiness.

"Miss Susan, your hair..." had dared say Vincent, once.

"I know, Vincent. It's alright" she'd answered, pushing back the long, white-blond tresses which now fell down her shoulders. After one year of Lobsang's hauntings, she knew there was no way they would go back to a bun for the day. She'd learned to live with that.

Perhaps she'd learn to live with the rest.

"Now open your books in page 27, if you please."


End file.
